The Duke and the Lady in Red (24 page)

She flicked a button free of its mooring, heard his sharp intake of breath, saw his eyes darken. “I suppose the next thing you'll want is me dancing in your fountain,” she said.

“Would you?” he asked, desire causing his voice to come out raspy with need.

Heat pooled between her legs, and she thought he could bring her to the pinnacle without ever touching her with his hands. It took only his voice, his gaze. Just knowing that still he yearned for her as though he'd yet to possess her. Another button freed. “You should have asked before we had a guest.”

“His room doesn't look out on the fountain.”

“But he likes to walk about at all hours of the night.” Another button.

“I should make arrangements to keep him occupied one night but . . .”

Her fingers stilled on a button. “But?”

He shook his head. “I'm not sure I want you dancing in the fountain. I grew bored with the ladies who did.”

“You'll grow bored with me eventually.” She released the final button, eased the nightdress off her shoulders so it could slither down her body. He watched the journey of cloth until it all gathered at her feet. Then he lifted his gaze back to hers.

“Eventually. But not tonight.”

Taking her hand, he led her into the bedchamber.

 

Chapter 16

“R
ose, we need to get up now.”

Pressing her nose into the hollow of Avendale's chest, she tried to ignore the lure of his throaty voice, still heavy with sleep. After bringing her to bed, he'd made love to her so slowly that she'd almost wept. Made love. That was the word that seemed to fit when they were together.

Squinting, she peered through one eye. “It's not light yet.”

“I know. We need to be away before it is. It's more spectacular that way. Now, come on get up.” He smacked her bottom before rolling away from her.

Still she shrieked her indignation as she scrambled back until she was sitting against the headboard. “What are you on about?”

He took a plain dress from the wardrobe and tossed it onto the bed. “Wear this.”

Clutching the covers to her, she said, “I'm not wearing anything until you explain what's going on. Are you in trouble? Are we running away? Have you decided to get rid of us?”

He fairly pounced, his hands coming to rest on either side of her, his arms effectively caging her in. “I have a surprise planned.”

Unfurling her fingers from the blankets, she touched them to his cheek. “It might be too soon to leave Harry all alone.”

“He's coming with us.”

“Where are we going?”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Someplace I doubt you've ever been before. Now be quick about it.”

Abruptly leaving her side, he dropped into a chair and began to pull on his boots. When had he drawn on his trousers?

She scrambled out of the bed. “Why must you be so mysterious?”

“Because it's more fun.”

She wanted to trust him, but he'd only just found out about Harry. He didn't understand the limitations, her need to protect him. She knelt before him, and he stilled, his eyes delving into hers. “Will there be others around?”

He sighed, obviously disgruntled with her. “If you must know, we're going beyond London for a picnic in the country.”

That didn't sound as though it had the potential for Harry to be hurt. Rising up, she pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Thank you.”

She began dressing. As he finished before her, he assisted her, but his mouth remained in a straight line. She hated that she'd ruined his surprise. “I've never been on a picnic,” she said quietly, hoping to assuage some of his disappointment in her.

“I'm hoping this will be one that you'll never forget.”

She didn't think she'd ever forget any moment she spent in his company. Because it was to be a picnic, she decided to wear a straw bonnet to give her some protection from the sun.

She followed Avendale from the room, took his arm as they began to descend the stairs. She'd expected him to lead her out through the front door, but once they reached the foyer, he directed her back down the hallway toward his library.

“Shouldn't we fetch Harry?” she asked.

“Gerald should have him waiting for us. We're a bit behind schedule.” He gave her a pointed look. Apparently he hadn't allowed time for her questions when he made his plans for the morning. They walked past his library to a door that led into the gardens.

She staggered to a stop at the sight that greeted her. The morning had lightened just enough that she could see Harry walking around a basket that was attached to a gigantic balloon. She'd seen one before at one of the fairs where her father had displayed Harry. “What's that doing here?” she asked, fearful that she knew the answer.

“It's going to serve as our conveyance.”

He wrapped his hand around her arm and began propelling her forward.

“Is something wrong with your coach?” she asked.

“Not at all.”

Glancing over, she saw that he was grinning. The picnic was not the surprise, blast him. The balloon was. The place he was taking her that she'd never been? The clouds.

“Rose, look!” Harry exclaimed as she neared. In the darkness she thought Gerald appeared as pale as she was certain she was.

“Yes, dearest, it's quite amazing, isn't it?”

“Would you like to take a ride in it?” Avendale asked.

Harry nodded with as much enthusiasm as his limitations allowed.

Avendale turned to her. “Rose?”

“You don't seriously expect us to climb into a wicker basket and go into the air.”

“Think of the view.”

“Think of the splatter when we fall from the sky.”

“Mr. Granger”—­he nodded toward a man standing near the balloon—­“is an exceptional pilot. I've ridden with him before. I assure you that it is an extraordinary experience.” He turned her until she faced him squarely. “Isn't that what you wanted for Harry? He'll see the sunrise coming over London as few have seen it. We'll go without you if we must, but I'd rather have you there.”

“Come with us, Rose, please,” Harry pleaded.

“Yes, all right.” She'd never been able to resist granting him his wishes, and she detected the slightest disappointment in Avendale's eyes because it was Harry's words rather than his own that would sway her.

“Good,” Avendale said. “Now we must be away or we're going to miss the best part.” He swept her up into his arms, lifted her over the side of the basket, and settled her inside. She grabbed a rope that held the balloon tethered to the wicker. After helping Harry climb in, he followed, with Mr. Granger finally joining them. She thought he should have been the first one in. What if the blasted thing had taken off without him?

Avendale slid his arm around her and tucked her in against him. “Here I thought you were fearless.”

“I'm pragmatic. If we were meant to fly we'd have wings.”

“If we were meant to fly, we'd figure out how to do it.”

Gerald removed the moorings. Granger did something and she heard a whoosh of air, the basket lifted slightly, swayed. She clutched Avendale's arm, wishing she could reach out and hold Harry, but that would have required she release her stranglehold on the rope, and she was certain as long as she held it, somehow she could keep the balloon afloat.

And it did feel as though they were floating . . . up, up, up. Until she was staring at the roof of Avendale's residence.

“We've gone up far enough, don't you think?” she asked.

“Relax, Rose. I'm not going to let you fall.”

She leaned back against his chest, and his other arm came around her, bringing her near. “Shouldn't you be holding on to something?”

“I'm holding on to you.”

“Yes, but if we start to fall—­”

“If we start to fall, nothing we're holding on to is going to keep us up here.”

“Thank you for the reassurance.”

“Nothing is going to happen.” Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. “I won't allow it.”

For some reason, even knowing that he didn't command the air or the heavens or the movement of this contraption, she believed him.

“Just close your eyes,” he said. “Absorb the peace of it.”

She did as he instructed. It was so quiet, the din from below faint and obscure. Although she knew they were moving, they did so at a snail's pace and she could almost imagine they weren't moving at all.

“Rose, look!” Harry crowed.

Opening her eyes, she saw the Thames below them. The boats and barges. The sun easing over the horizon, painting the landscape in glorious shades of sunlight.

“We can see everything. Are we going around the world, Duke?” Harry asked.

“Not today,” he answered.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Harry's smile larger than she'd ever seen it. Tossing his head back, he laughed as she'd never heard him laugh. Her chest tightened painfully. She'd have never given him this. Even if she could afford it, she'd have never
thought
to give him this.

Tilting her head back, she found Avendale watching her instead of everything unfolding below them. “Do you do this often?”

“A ­couple of times a year. There are no worries up here, no disappointments, no regrets.”

“What do you regret?”

He shook his head slightly. “They don't exist up here.”

But she knew it for a lie. They always existed; they stayed a part of you forever.

R
ose sat on a blanket, Avendale stretched out alongside her. Harry was walking along the stream with Mr. Granger. The pilot had brought the balloon down in this beautiful field, awash with purple, yellow, and blue petals. Fully aware of Avendale's gaze on her, she plucked a flower, twirled it.

They'd enjoyed a lovely breakfast, packed in a wicker basket. “I'm going to miss your cook when our time together is over.”

“Don't even contemplate stealing her away from me,” he groused.

She peered over at him. “As though I could.”

“I suspect you can do anything you set your mind to.”

“Even fly in a balloon. I can't believe I did that.”

“You enjoyed it, though, didn't you?”

“Immensely. Although not as much as Harry. I shall never forget the amazement on his face when that flock of birds flew by.”

Reaching out, he traced his finger across her forehead, down her cheek, along her chin, and she wondered how it was that his touch could still send her heart to pounding. She almost wished it were only the two of them, so she could lean over and kiss him.

“I shall never forget the astonishment on yours,” he said.

“I can well imagine what I must have looked like, probably all eyes.”

“Almost.”

She glanced around. “I do hope the fellow who owns this land doesn't come barging over the rise to chase us off before we're ready to leave.”

“I have it on good authority that he is too stuffed with meat pie to go barging anywhere.”

She eased down, raised on an elbow, so she could see him more clearly. “It's your land.”

“It is.”

“Part of your estates?” The lesser one perhaps. She was fairly certain they'd not traveled to Cornwall. She would dearly love to take a tour of his manor house.

“No, just some pretty property I fancied and so I purchased it.”

“Why? A dowry for your daughter perhaps?” She could see him with a little girl, holding her hand, protecting her from anyone who would take advantage. For all his gruffness and his claims to not being a caring sort, she could easily see an imp of a lass wrapping him around her littlest finger with no trouble at all.

“No, simply for occasions like this when I want to get away from London. My estates are too distant for a short retreat.”

“Will you build something here?” she asked.

He trailed his finger over her hand. “I was thinking of it.”

“I should like to see it when you're done.”

He lifted his gaze to hers, and with the intensity of it she felt as though a spear had lanced her heart. “Perhaps it will be for you.”

A place for his longtime mistress, she thought, for that was what she would become, for as long as he wanted. She didn't want to think about that now, didn't want to acknowledge that she fully recognized what her place in his life would be. She would not regret her role, would not resent the price. He'd already proven that his part of the bargain would far exceed anything that she could give her brother, would far exceed anything she could give Avendale. She wouldn't give him bastards, though, God help her, she would love being a mother to his child. Although it wouldn't be fair to the child. Even if Avendale acknowledged him, he could never inherit, would never have a proper position in Society.

She forced back all those thoughts, fought back his implication that they would be together long enough to warrant his building her a house, and simply laughed. “I am a woman who will not accept a gift of jewelry. Do you really think I would accept a residence?”

“I suppose not, not without a great deal of arguing.”

“There you are then. You shall have to find another purpose for the land. Share it with your family perhaps.”

Slowly he shook his head and glanced toward the stream where Harry was tossing pebbles into the water. “He's fortunate to have you as a sister.”

“I'm the fortunate one. While my father did not set a sterling example, Harry embodies all that a family should be.”

Mr. Granger handed Harry another pebble. She wondered if he had recognized that if Harry bent over to retrieve one, he would in all likelihood topple into the water.

“What will you do when he's gone?” Avendale asked quietly, yet Rose felt as though he'd bludgeoned her.

She gave him her most menacing glare. Here she'd thought he was understanding and kind—­

“You have to have given it some thought. And no one would blame you for doing so. You're a realist, Rose, and you claimed last night not to lie to yourself, so you've thought about it.”

Damn him. He was coming to know her too well, learning to read her far too easily. Her strength rested in remaining an enigma. And if she had to leave him before the bargain was done, how would she do it if he could read through her lies? “Doesn't mean that I don't feel guilty when I do.”

“So what will you do?”

Arching a brow, angling her chin, she said succinctly, “Honor the bargain I made with you.”

“And if there were no bargain to be honored?”

“What good comes from speculating on theoretical scenarios?”

“I'm simply curious. Before you met me, what were your plans for when the time came that you didn't have to watch over him?”

“Why do you care?”

He trailed his blunt-­tipped finger along the back of her hand, and she was astounded as always that his faint touch in such a small area could lure her in, could make her want to kiss him. “If you're not comfortable with thoughts of Harry being gone, what will you do when you're free of me?”